


Wishes Come True, Not Free

by picklechips



Category: Tangled: The Series (Cartoon), tangled - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Moon!Varian, Work In Progress, in which we pick up after the end of season 1 and varian has moon powers, it's pretty serious but there's also some goofy/fluffy moments i guess?, probably some adventure elements eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picklechips/pseuds/picklechips
Summary: After being thrown in prison, Varian is left to wonder about all the secrets that were sealed away with his dad, and he’s not content to wait. With the help of a wayward pirate, Varian soon has the chance to break free—and in the process, discovers a strange new power of his own.The darkness in Corona has awoken, and Varian is more connected to it than he ever could have imagined.





	1. Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirin remembers the day he met his son.

As the amber began to consume him, Quirin knew he had but a moment to say all that needed to be said to his son—and a moment wasn't nearly enough.

He didn’t think he would die this way, of all ways—in his own village, the victim of a stupid little chemical spill—but that’s always what happens, isn’t it? Death sneaks up on you where you least expect it. Not on the battlefield, but in your own basement.

He'd come down to apologize for the situation in King Frederic's court. He knew that Varian was upset, and the boy certainly had a right to be. He thought Quirin had lied when, in fact, the king knew exactly what Quirin meant when he had asked for extra land to accommodate the most recent “crop reports.”

Quirin needed to convey as best he could that even though he couldn't share all the details now, Varian shouldn't think that the problem of the rocks was new, nor was it being ignored. They’d move houses for now, out of the path of destruction. Everything would be all right as long as Varian stayed away from them.

Of course, seeing Varian pour a chemical concoction of God-knows-what on the rocks had distracted him from the goal of reconciliation, and they ended up in their usual argument: whenever Quirin says _don't do this_ , Varian does it anyway. That old chestnut. And, true to form, as the amber grew all around him, Varian failed to heed his father’s final instruction: _don't go_. Instead, Varian looked at him with eyes full of fear and bolted into the bitter winter wind.

Quirin thought he had a moment, and now he had nothing.

* * *

 

Quirin wasn't young when Varian came along. He was battle-hardened. Accustomed to loss and the brutality of war. The year of Varian's birth had been especially chaotic for the Order. The golden flower had been plucked from its proper place, and the moon and sun were set spinning out of balance, just as was foretold. But though Quirin wasn't young, he wasn’t yet old. Not like he was now. Age hadn't lined his face or afflicted him with pains.

Rather, he was at his peak. After five years, the Order had finally demolished the warlock's army and pursued him to his labyrinth—an immense system of underground caves full of booby traps, monsters, and illusions, all fueled by magic from the raging moon. The final assault lasted hour upon hour, Quirin managing it all as Commander; the other council members of the Order served as advisors and warriors. It was a grueling siege which he hoped would end an even more grueling war. Quirin saw his best soldiers cut down in those caves. His rage was savage, and his hunger for revenge was insatiable. When it was time to push further into the warlock's inner sanctum for the final showdown, he insisted on entering himself.

An unnerving stillness had settled over the underground labyrinth. Quirin crept through the darkness of the cave passage, holding his enchanted sword (necessary for Order members and specially forged, though he was always handier with a spear) close to his body. It dripped with the inky lifeblood of slain golems, and the energy of the moon made it pulse with blue light. He limped on an injured right leg, gritting his teeth, determined to push through the pain to whatever came next. Two of his closest lieutenants flanked him, wielding their own whetted swords. The light of their lanterns caught on the crystal formations which lined the damp stone walls; brilliant colors and shapes danced in the corners of Quirin’s eyes as they approached a grand inner chamber lit by the moon through a skylight.

The three men separated as they entered, preparing to sweep the chamber. It had once been the warlock's study. It quickly became apparent that there would be no last stand here. He'd ransacked it. Everything of value which could be removed, had been. Ever a coward, the warlock had cut his losses and taken flight. Books were tossed about; instruments lay broken. The one thing left over was a massive and immovable formation of clear crystal: an artefact of great power which the warlock had cultivated himself in this cave. It sat in the center of the room underneath the skylight, refracting and scattering the light of the moon like a prism. Quirin had the honor of smashing it to pieces. Finally.

Of course, this wasn't the end. Magic is as unrelenting as nature; raze it with fire, and it buds again from the ash. Nonetheless, it was a victory. They'd destroyed a magical amplifier that had taken years to grow. They'd sent the warlock back into the shadows with his tail between his legs.

As shards of crystal skittered on the stone below, the cave seemed to shudder. Quirin's knuckles whitened as he gripped his hilt. He fully anticipated the warlock to leave one last surprise for them. Whatever was waiting in this chamber, he was ready. If it meant spilling all his blood on the stone below—so be it.

He'd do it for his people.

For the fallen.

For Corona.

One of his lieutenants cried out:

"Commander! There's something here!"

He pointed at a large swath of fabric, hung over what seemed to be an offshoot passage only slightly taller than Quirin himself. Behind it, something writhed, casting immense and strange shadows on the drape. Besides that, its form was totally obscured. The three of them approached together with caution. The two lieutenants looked to Quirin, waiting for his action. He took a deep breath, and…

Quirin tore the fabric away with a thundering battle cry, sword in the air.

His lieutenant stammered. "Sir, it looks like—"

Quirin’s arm fell slack. "A baby?"

A baby. The strange shadows had only been an illusion, created by a lantern behind the crib.

And now the baby was crying. Very loudly.

Probably because a colossal man in metal armor had just screamed at it.

Quirin put his sword away and approached the squalling child, peering over the edge of its bassinet. He nearly expected to see the lost princess. (A ridiculous thought, of course. She would have been long past infancy by then. But everyone in the kingdom remembered the image of that stolen baby.) It was a freckled little thing, all swaddled up, with bright blue eyes—a vivid, icy blue—and dark hair. It was terrified.

“What should we do, sir?”

Quirin removed his helm in the hopes that would calm the poor tyke. He handed the helmet to his lieutenant and carefully picked up the child, cradling it in his arms, hushing it. He could see the surprise on his subordinates' faces. Their Commander, who was able to make the most cocksure recruit go white with terror, shushing a baby? They’d never seen him like this.

Quirin turned his attention back up to them, his eyes back to their signature glower. They both flinched. “Look for anything else of immediate interest,” he said. “I’ll send back more men for a thorough search.”

Quirin made his way back through the labyrinth to the encampment and relayed his orders. Then to his wife.

As he stepped under the makeshift canopy which housed the wounded, Margery—who’d feared the worst—ran to throw her arms round his neck. She stopped short when she saw the strange bundle he carried with him.

It took a few days to journey back to the capital, and a week or so for all the chaos and discussions over the findings in the labyrinth to die down. After it had, Quirin and Margery found themselves waiting in the halls of the castle for a private meeting with King Frederic. Margery held the child in her arms.

It was a boy. He had been shaken, but uninjured. She rocked him. Quirin put a hand on her shoulder.

The truth was that Quirin and Margery had wished for a child since the day they married.

Their wish hadn’t come true. And after years of marriage, it soon became clear that it wouldn’t.

Quirin, for grief and a lack of anything else, threw himself into local politics and the study of Corona’s history. His work became his life. He soon received a personal invitation from the king to join the Order. Suddenly, he was living a life so secretive and fraught with danger that it would be irresponsible to even consider taking a child into his care. One day, with an unspoken air of finality, he converted the little nursery in their home into a meeting room for Order members. Margery wept that night, though she tried to hide it. When he later went off to battle, she joined him as a medic.

Now, the war was over, and Order operations would scale back dramatically. Quirin and his wife would not have to keep so many secrets from their neighbors, and they would need something new to fill their lives. As they discussed the mystery behind the little foundling—could he, too, have been stolen from some poor, bereaved couple? And why was he the only thing the warlock didn’t take?—both of them knew in their hearts that they would take him in until he was claimed. Or forever. And after a thorough survey revealed that there were no mysteriously missing children in Corona, they decided the make the adoption official.

There was just one problem.

“We can’t be sure, but we think he might have magic in him,” said Margery, as they stood before the king. She parted the baby’s hair to reveal a shock of bright blue. An unnatural shade of teal. “A curse, or...”

Quirin knelt. “We know the rules of the covenant, but we do not want to abandon this child. I’m asking for help—as an old friend.”

A more traditional king might have denied the request—surrendered the baby to the wilds, past the walls of Corona, where the faeries lived. But Frederic was a compassionate sovereign, and one who was wont to make exceptions to ancient law. Though Quirin would never admit it, he sometimes resented King Frederic for that very tendency. He wondered how the king could have possibly gone through with picking the golden flower, even after having been warned of the calamitous consequences. How could a ruler place the welfare of his family above the welfare of his kingdom? His people?

But whenever Quirin saw the child smile, or laugh, or coo at him, his heart melted. He understood why the king did it.

“Given that there’s no other evidence the boy is magic,” began King Frederic, “I can see no reason to deny you. And I understand that the Order has been researching methods of weakening dark magic—sealing it away.”

“That’s right,” said Quirin. “So far, we’ve kept the rocks at bay.”

The king’s eyes were soft and sad as he looked at them. “You have my blessing. If any problems arise as he grows up, I will do everything in my power to help, and figure out how he might live a normal life.”

Quirin breathed a sigh of relief. Margery had already given the boy a name: Varian. She had already begun singing him lullabies each night. He had to face it; she was attached. And so was he.

From now on, this child would be his duty and his pride. And whatever came next, he would deal with.

_Our little Varian._

* * *

 

As the amber continued to grow, Quirin considered what he wanted for his son.

Quirin wanted Varian to be happy and safe—that was it. He wanted Varian to have the sort of carefree childhood that he’d had himself, before the kingdom fell into chaos. But instead of playing hide-and-seek, Varian preferred to spend hours tinkering with gadgets. He was six when he tried taking the stove apart and putting it back together again. (The kitchen needed to be rebuilt after that.) Sometimes Quirin felt like shaking the boy by the shoulders and saying: _Go skip some stones or something, for goodness’ sake. Enjoy your childhood! You only get this time once, you know._

But Varian was always eager to grow up—a precocious child, constantly reading or shutting himself up on his room to work on some new invention. He never really fit in with the other children. Not a surprise, since he tended to make things blow up. Usually THEIR things.

Quirin could be strict. And cold. But he was only strict because he wanted his son to be safe. He worried himself sick that Varian was going to maim himself with one of his creations—and it’s not as if he were unjustified in his fear. Paradoxically, however, the more he tried to push Varian away from alchemy, the grander in scope Varian’s projects became.

The tension between them had come to a head today. What led them here? Maybe Quirin was to blame for not allowing Varian more responsibility. He never felt ready to tell the truth about their family, always deferring it another day. He didn’t want Varian to trouble himself with the rocks, and so he didn’t tell him anything (because telling him anything meant telling him everything), even as the village turned to ruins. He just wanted Varian to stay a kid for a bit longer.

But Varian didn’t want to be a kid any more. And in a few moments, Quirin realized, Varian would get his wish.

Wishes are dangerous, indelible things.

Sometimes they come true.

And one thing was certain: As soon as this rock overtook Quirin, Varian would no longer be a child. He wouldn’t have the luxury. He’d be alone in the world. Other than losing him, this was Quirin’s worst fear realized.

There was nothing Quirin could do but keep glancing at the door and hope that Varian would reappear. He would say, _I know you were just trying to help. You have a good heart, son. And I’m proud of that. I’m so proud. It’s the most important thing a person can have._

_You’re going to do great things someday, when you’re older. I've always known that, and it's always terrified me. Swear to me you'll be careful._

_I love you. Now please. Whatever you do._

_Stay away from those rocks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So I found out that "Varian Has Moon Powers" AUs are a thing, and I felt compelled to do my own spin on the concept before the next season of Tangled: The Series comes out and disproves all my theories. So, consider this an AU! And that's where I'll leave it for now. I haven't read much of the other moon!Varian AUs (So if anything seems derivative, I promise it's not on purpose!!)


	2. Your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian deals with the fallout of his mistakes. Specifically, by making even more of them.

 Varian's supplication to Rapunzel was... less than successful.

This wasn't what he was expecting. When guards had stopped him at the door, Varian tried to explain. _Of course_ the princess would want him to enter. He was welcome at the castle. She'd given him his word.

He’d run past them and made his case to Rapunzel. But she denied him, and the guards dragged him away and tossed him out into the freezing cold.

The princess didn't even look at him. She let them throw him out like he was vermin.

As soon as he hit the snow, Varian was right back up again, trying one last time to get through the doors. He was almost quick enough to make it back in, too; but the stringy, younger guard that had been escorting him—Pete—caught up to him first and grabbed him by the hood of his coat. He still wriggled in the direction of the doors.

“Please! I have to get back in there and explain again! The princess is the only person in Corona who can—"

“The princess made up her mind,” Pete said, restraining him easily. Varian was quick, but scrawny. No match for even the least intimidating member of the royal guard. “You need to stop. Like, now. You’re sort of breaking the law, and I don’t want to have to actually detain you, okay?”

The burlier guard, Stan, shook his head as he walked over. His breath came out in heavy puffs. He didn't exactly look thrilled to be running after some overdramatic kid in the midst of a citywide emergency. “Actually, Pete? Maybe we _should_ detain this one. Just to be sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble. Or get into trouble.” Without a doubt, Stan had the science contest on his mind. Nearly destroy the castle with a giant vortex, and people tend to remember you.

“No, you can’t. My dad!” Varian had given up struggling now that imprisonment was on the table. Instead, he just pleaded. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of being arrested when he ran past the guards. He thought that Rapunzel would protect him. He thought she was his friend—one of precious few. Finding out he was wrong… it hurt. “I don’t have a lot of time. Even if the princess won’t come with me, I need to get back to Old Corona. Just let me go and I'll leave!”

Stan scoffed. “Now? Not all alone in this weather, you aren’t. And not after... well... attacking the princess. Hold him here, Pete. I’ll duck inside and ask the Captain what we should do with him.” He trudged off, leaving Pete to stand awkwardly with his captive.

“She promised to help me,” Varian said, sounding utterly hopeless.

Pete seemed uncomfortable. He lowered his voice. “Look, uh... I'm not sure what's going on, but you need to ask someone else for help. Somebody from your own village or something. We'll probably be evacuating to Old Corona soon, anyway.” He let go of Varian and gave him a little push. “So, y’know, go. Run along.”

Varian bolted, only just hearing the distant sound of a door opening and Pete bumbling: _oh, um, oops, he just kinda slipped away again... you know me, regular old butterfingers…_

The return trip to Old Corona was much more exhausting than the trip there—the storm had gotten worse. Battered by screaming wind and thick snow, he struggled through a frigid, white abyss on his way back to Old Corona. Most of it was a slog, and he had to take care to avoid sliding to his doom down steep ravines. When he finally had the cottage in sight, he found the strength to run. He burst inside to find his father completely consumed by crystal. Of course, even if he hadn't been completely encased by now, there was nothing Varian could have done to stop the process. He sank to his knees at the bottom of the amber, cried, and promised that he'd fix this. He'd do whatever it took.

As soon as that was done, he'd pay back the princess with interest for how she'd treated him.

(Displacing his despair with anger was a survival mechanism. Varian knew he was the one who caused the chemical reaction. But if he couldn't blame anyone but himself, he might have just stayed out in the snow.)

He started work immediately on a drill prototype. Something crude and quick, just to see what would happen if he tried to destroy one of the smaller outgrowths. As the drill bit shattered, he confirmed (as he feared) that the amber growth was as unbreakable as the black rocks. Chemical experiments yielded the same results; even the most corrosive substances had no effect on the crystal. When it became evident that something much more elaborate would be required, Varian felt the need to cover up the crystal formation (and his father) before continuing. He couldn't look at it anymore. He couldn't just leave his dad out in the open. With shaking hands, he hastily cobbled together whatever he could find in the cottage—bedsheets, curtains, blankets—leaving nothing for himself as the sky turned dark.

He tried to go back to his notes, but numbness and hunger made it hard to think. Outside, the blizzard wailed, and the temperature kept dropping. Varian was exhausted, but he had to keep working.

* * *

Varian stirred on the grass.

It felt nice and soft. It was one of those warm summer nights, and the breeze enfolded him like a blanket.

He’d only meant to stop and rest for a minute, but he’d nodded off in this clearing. He was pretty smart for a seven-year-old, but he still had a tenuous grasp of time.

He woke up to the sound of his father calling his name. As his eyes fluttered open, he saw the brilliant night sky above him, and the fireflies pulsing with light; then, remembering everything with a terrible lurch, he started towards the direction of the sound.

His father scooped him up his arms and pulled him into a bear hug. He said Varian's name over and over.

"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"

“I'm OK,” said Varian.

“I was looking all over for you." His father plopped him back down on the ground and knelt to be at his level. His expression turned serious. "Never run off like that. _Never._ You scared me so much.”

Varian avoided his father's eyes. “I was going to come back soon.”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t ever go off on your own without telling anyone. I need to know where you are, and that you're safe."

“But I had to...”

“No buts, Varian.”

“Please don't get mad," Varian said, picking at the grass. "I was just going to find it. It was going to be a surprise."

“I’m not angry," said Quirin, in that unconvincing way fathers often say. "And find what? If you've lost something, I can help you find it later.”

Varian looked up. He had plucked a small wildflower. He presented it in his cupped palms. “I was looking for a golden flower. Like in the story."

Quirin sighed deeply, and all frustration seemed to melt away from his expression. Something sad replaced it. He picked up the flowery sprig with his gloved hand. (He never took off those gloves.) "Sit down with me, right here." He lowered himself down to sit and patted the grass. Varian joined him. "Listen closely. _There is no golden flower._ ”

“Is too!" Varian was indignant, lisping through several missing baby teeth. "There's a golden flower that can make you better if you’re sick. Can’t it?”

Quirin shook his head. “That’s a bedtime story that people like to tell, son. I'm afraid it's just a tall tale.”

“But it there _was_ a flower! And it was magic! Everybody says so! And if there was one magic flower, there could be another magic flower. How can anybody know there's not another one unless they look?”

“Because, Varian. What you need to realize about magic is that..." Quirin struggled with his words, but seemed to come to a decision. "...there is no such thing. We have doctors and medicine now. We have science. We can’t rely on folk tales.”

Varian took a moment to take this in. As he did, his resolve wilted. He accepted that there was no such thing as magic. He leaned against his dad. “But it's been days, and all that stuff isn’t helping. Nothing's getting better."

His dad patted his shoulder. "I know."

"I tried to find the stupid fake flower, and I got lost. I’m sorry." Varian wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I just wanted to help Mom."

"It's okay. I'm here."

Varian looked up at his dad. "I’ll come back to the house now.”

His dad didn't move. "Varian... do you remember when we all went to the capital to see the lanterns?"

Varian started to answer the affirmative, that of course he remembered the lantern festival, but he stopped when he saw a black rock explode from the earth a couple of meters ahead of them, sending grass and soil flying.

He turned to his dad, who continued as if nothing had happened.

"The floating lanterns are beautiful. They shine for a while, and everybody can look at them. But, eventually, the light inside them makes them drift off somewhere new, and we can’t see them anymore.”

“Dad?” Varian tugged at his father’s sleeve. Several more black spikes burst from the ground near the first in a close cluster, quickly enough to impale.

“No one knows where they go. They're still out there, just out of view. High in the clouds—“

“Dad, do you see that?!” Varian was confused. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. As more rocks broke the surface, he realized that—first of all—he wasn't seven.

He also realized that this had already happened. But last time, the rocks weren't here. He stood up and tugged harder, to no effect. His dad continued talking to the empty space where Varian had been.

“—when people die, they’re a bit like those lanterns. We can’t see them, but they’re looking down on us. When you look at the sky, you should always know—“

The rocks erupted less than a second apart, and they followed a breakneck path towards Quirin and Varian.

“Look, I know you’re trying to break the news about Mom to me gently, and I appreciate it. Honest. But you need to get out of the way."

"—your mother has been very sick, and—"

He wanted to escape this awful, broken memory. He kept trying to shove his dad out of the way, but it was useless. In the distance he saw cloaked figures watching. The moon had grown to the size of a dinner plate.

The rocks were approaching fast. They had consumed the landscape, rising in infinite, dark spires over both of their heads. In just a few seconds they'd be here, sprouting beneath the two of them like dozens of swords, all striking killing blows. Varian could do nothing but watch.

_"Dad—"_

Quirin's voice caught.

"She's gone."

* * *

 

Varian woke up to his own screaming.

He was awake now. Extremely awake. Ruddiger, who had been curled in a furry ball on his lap, jumped three feet in the air.

Light streamed in through the small windows above. He was sitting upright in his desk chair. His neck smarted, and there was drool on his notebook.

Someone had tapped him on the shoulder.

He expected to see Rapunzel standing behind him. Maybe even Cassie, or Flynn, or the guard from last night. He was so terrified that any friendly face would have been comforting. He might have even forgiven them, right then and there.

Instead, he found himself facing the citizens of Old Corona.

Several facts became quickly apparent. First, the only thing keeping Varian from being run out of Old Corona by a veritable angry mob with pitchforks and torches had been Quirin. Second, Quirin was currently supposed to be leading the big evacuation out of Old Corona to a new patch of land unaffected by the rocks. Third, the real icing on the cake—Varian was a fugitive.

Everyone knew the story of how he had attacked the princess the night prior, and they were _fuming_. As the news had spread, gossip made the tale more sensational. He’d attacked her with one of his strange inventions, they said. He was totally deranged. And now, he couldn’t even answer for where his father was. (Varian didn’t dare reveal that his father was about five feet away.)

Everyone agreed that the boy should finally face some serious consequences for his actions, and that a short stay in the clink might finally scare him straight. In any case, they certainly didn’t want him in their _new_ village. They were intent on turning him in to the capital.

Escaping the mob was the easy part. Varian had access to everything in his lab, and he managed to put together a quick smoke bomb. While everyone coughed and wheezed, he grabbed whatever equipment he could carry and sprinted out of the cottage.

The hard part was figuring out where to go after he escaped. Home just didn’t exist anymore.

As Varian ran, Ruddiger clung to his shoulder. Where would he go? Not with the villagers in their new settlement; he wouldn’t be welcome. Not in the castle; they clearly weren’t interested in helping, either. He’d have to lay low in the forest for a while.

Starved for breath, he found a little thicket to hide in until the townsfolk got sick of searching for him. It wouldn’t take long; they were cold and tired too, and ultimately, they didn’t care whether Varian was in the forest or in jail, so long as he was gone. Luckily, the blizzard had subsided, and he was able to dig himself a little cave in the snow. He clutched Ruddiger like a stuffed animal for a while and waited.

Powerless. That’s how he felt.

Powerless to stop the rocks, and powerless to help his dad. No recourse. No allies in this fight. No path forward.

He’d just have to take a few deep breaths… and think. There’s always a chance, as long as one can think.

He started by going over everything that he knew. Immediately, his thoughts wandered to his nightmare.

He used to get nightmares a lot. His dad had told him something about dreams once. Something to the effect of: dreams are usually nonsense, so don’t worry about them too much. That’s why they’re called _dreams,_ instead of… _real, actual stuff that happened while you were awake._

Even so, this dream had given him an idea: the golden flower. It quite obviously existed at some point, even though his father had told him otherwise. Its existence was common knowledge, and besides, there was no other way for Rapunzel to have obtained her unusual hair. Some property of the flower had made it indestructible. As indestructible as the black rocks.

So he started by looking for more information. Ruddiger helped him gather some food (he had to clarify that they scavenge the _forest_ for food, _not_ the Old Corona garbage dump); then, after nightfall, he returned to the cottage, which he found overgrown with rocks and abandoned.

He started with his father’s things, even his Off-Limits Forbidden Books, leaving no corner uninvestigated. That’s how he found the chest with a strange insignia and the graphtyc—a scroll with information about the flower. These objects proved the existence of the flower, but they also left Varian with even more mysteries. What else had his father been keeping from him? What other lies had he told?

Regardless, there was one thing his father hadn’t lied about: the flower wasn’t “magic.” Like anything else, it could be scientifically analyzed, and its secrets could be found out through the awesome power of alchemy. If only he could test its properties…! But did it even exist anymore, or had it been destroyed long ago?

It wasn’t a great lead, but it was a start. It gave him something on which to focus his efforts. As long as he could progress towards freeing his dad, things were going to be OK. Breakthrough by breakthrough, he would figure out those rocks. Unlike the _princess,_ he wouldn’t break his promise. Not ever. He would get what he needed by any means necessary.

Relentlessly, he worked. He began crafting his grand plan, accounting for every detail.

He was also afraid to fall asleep that night, and every night after.

 _But dreams are just dreams,_ he repeated to himself.

_Dreams are just dreams._

* * *

 

Varian didn’t set out on his ensuing journey of deceit, manipulation and theft with the intention of hurting anyone. Well, perhaps he did, but not purely. Hurting the princess was a bonus, not his primary goal. Every person harmed during his plan was a casualty in his quest to free his father as quickly and pragmatically as possible.

At his plan’s final moment—and it had been a _perfect_ plan—he expected the crystal to crack, or shatter, or even melt away, but it just… didn’t. When using Rapunzel’s hair as a drill bit failed to even make a _dent_ in the amber—that was when all his hope vanished, along with all rational thought.

Then, as he witnessed Rapunzel, King Frederic, and Queen Arianna hugging each other like the final illustration of some sickeningly sappy children’s book while his own father hung inanimate above him, Varian just… lost himself. His rage bubbled over, and he despaired over everything he once had.

Then he _only_ wanted to hurt.

Rapunzel’s ability to control the rocks was a contingency he couldn’t have accounted for. If she hadn’t intervened, would he have really crushed Queen Arianna and Cassandra in his metal grasp, or would he have stopped short?

As a horse-drawn cart carried him away in chains, not even Varian knew.

They were halfway back to the capital when he heard a familiar scraping noise below the sound of hoofbeats and the clatter of the cart. It was an unmistakable sound—a harsh, grinding drone he’d heard day and night while he worked in Old Corona.

He looked through the small, slatted window and saw a black rock growing in the middle of the road.

 _Odd,_ he thought. _Almost like…_

 _Almost like they’re following_ me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in, and we have reached the end of canon material and are ready to journey into the unknown! Thank you for everyone who read Chapter 1, and special thanks those who left a comment! Y'all really motivated me to continue. Sorry if nothing much new happened in this chapter--we are getting where we need to be.  
> Join us next week in the Corona dungeon for more "fun-filled" adventures with Varian, and the appearance of a new "friend."  
> Also, please let me know if you see bothersome typos! I try my best but I know sometimes I miss stuff while proofreading.


	3. Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in prison, Varian meets someone with common interests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a day late for my weekly goal. (Technically 2 days late!) But, y'know, this chapter is freaking LONG. I mean, it's not all that long when compared to other fanfic out there, but compared to my goal for it (2,000 words), it is... LONG. (And completed very hastily after I had my midterm today)
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I'd like to thank you all so much for the continued comments. I do read and appreciate all of them, and though I probably won't respond to every comment from now on, I will try to respond if you ask a particular question or if I can think of something to say right away.

When Varian got back to the castle, the stray rock was hardly on his mind anymore. He was about to be put in fetters and officially become a prisoner of Corona.

They made him surrender all his possessions and wear a standard prison uniform. It hung pathetically on Varian’s frame—it was meant for an adult, after all. He didn’t realize how much he’d miss his goggles, gloves and shoes until he had to surrender them. Being barehanded bothered him more than being barefoot. He’d worn gloves as early as he could find a pair that fit his hands. Beyond being essential PPE for alchemy, they just looked cool. (Like his dad’s.) The castle staff also managed to confiscate Ruddiger, despite the raccoon’s valiant attempts at escape.

The guards brought him down what seemed an infinite spire of stairs. He was headed to a truly subterranean area of dungeon—the capital’s most secure cell block.

Varian had never been anywhere so dark. He couldn't see into any of the adjoining cells, not even the one across from his own. The only source of visibility (and warmth) were the dim lights mounted to the corridor.

They shackled him to the back wall of the cell with two wrist cuffs. Each cuff required a separate key to open, and while he still had a full range of motion in his arms and the use of his hands, the chain only allowed him within about a foot of the bars. (He thought it was overkill, but he supposed they had reason to be cautious.)

Examining the cell yielded little. It was spacious, with a high ceiling. No windows. There was a cot, a thin blanket, and a small gap underneath the bars where he assumed somebody would slide him food. He had to _assume,_ because for the first few days, they starved him out. No water until Day 2, and no food until Day 4. He was only able to keep a handle on the time because an on-duty guard walked the cell block at roughly five-minute intervals; from there, he was able to tell the length of a typical shift, and calculate (roughly) the number of hours that had passed.

At first, Varian was _angry_. He was obstinate and prideful and still riding the high of having the power of an automaton at his fingertips. He’d scowled at the guards who brought him down, full of determination to disobey.

But anger can only be sustained for so long until it burns itself out. After hours and hours of sitting on a grimy stone floor, the darkness and dead silence of the dungeon sunk into his bones. He’d never felt like this before. He’d never had _nothing—_ not even the clothes on his back. It was all gone, and there was no way out. Whatever happened next wasn’t up to him—he was totally at the mercy of his captors.

His head swam with speculation about his punishment. He knew that criminals had been hanged for less than what he’d done. They might execute him. Or maybe they’d forgotten about him already, and would just let him starve.

When someone finally slid a bowl of something under the bottom of the door and towards Varian, it was a bit of cold gruel and stale bread, subpar even for dungeon food. He descended on it like an animal. So much for pride. Meals started coming regularly then, but the portions were too meager to be satisfying.

On Day 5, something finally happened. He found himself staring at the Captain of the Guard through his prison bars.

The Captain held a brightly-burning lantern, a large bag, and a packet of papers. Varian saw a nigh-imperceptible wince of pain in the Captain's face as he set down his bag and raised his arm to show the packet. Varian didn't know whether he'd received the wound from the automatons or from a mutated Ruddiger, but it was certainly one of the two.

"What I hold in my hand is an official record of your crimes. I wouldn't want to waste any of your valuable time, so let's go through the highlights, shall we?" The Captain flipped through the sheaves. "You are hereby charged, first and foremost, with high treason. Then there's kidnapping, assault, and grand larceny."

Varian glared at the floor.

The Captain continued. "Manufacture of illegal substances. Manufacture of illegal weaponry. For poisoning most of the royal staff with your... truth serum, assault in the second degree..." The Captain spat out the next two words: "and finally, attempted murder."

Cassandra.

There was no point in saying anything.

"I can't express how grateful you should be to the king," said the Captain. "In normal circumstances, you’d likely be tried as an adult. You’re pretty smart; I think you know what that would mean for you. But since you’re not—here." He unlocked the door, swung it open, threw the bag in the direction of the cot, and slammed it shut. He spoke with barely-concealed contempt. "The king is allowing you special privileges—a few personal effects—and he’s given some instructions on how your imprisonment should proceed.” The Captain laughed bitterly. “Fortunately, however, I'm the one who’s _interpreting_ his instructions. I’ll be overseeing every aspect of your time here. The king might be getting a soft in his old age, I think you’ll find that I still believe in the idea of justice. If scum like you has any chance at being ‘rehabilitated _,’_ or whatever you’d like to call it, you need to be broken and rebuilt from the bottom up. And you _will_ break."

That explained the lack of food and water.

The Captain clicked the lock closed again. As he walked off, Varian peered into the hallway. For a moment, the Captain's lantern illuminated the cell across from Varian's. He thought he saw a pair of eyes flash at him, then disappear into the blackness—but he couldn’t be sure. (His eyes had played tricks on him these past few days.)

Blinking, he walked over to the bag. He opened it by feel, now that his eyes had to readjust to the dark. First, he felt what seemed to be a leather-bound book with a writing implement. Beneath the book was a little cage with a latch, which he undid. And inside the cage…

_“Ruddiger!”_

The raccoon skittered out, chittering madly. He zoomed around the room for a while, then settled in his typical place on Varian’s lap, seemingly content even in this dark bunker—as long as he was with his human.

“I bet you kept trying to get back in here, didn’t you, buddy? Even after everything I put you through.” Varian buried his face in Ruddiger’s fur. He felt a knot growing in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Varian was afraid he had already broken.

 

* * *

 

 

That night—or perhaps it was still day—something roused Varian from sleep. Grumbling, he scratched at his nose.

“Psst,” said a voice. "Hey there, neighbor."

Varian sighed and burrowed deeper into his thin blanket. Seconds later, something round bounced off his face. He opened his eyes.

There were crumbs all over the floor and the bed; Ruddiger was stuffing himself. Somebody had been pelting him with them.

“So you’re up,” said a sardonic, female voice. “Finally. I’m almost out of bread.” A slender hand stuck out of the bars of the cell across from Varian, its shadowy form only just discernible. The hand was holding another roll, tossing it up and catching it restlessly. Its owner seemed ready to throw another screwball. "Fortunately, I have great aim. And I've been saving these things up."

Varian rose, yawning. He kept his voice low. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to fraternize with other prisoners.”

“You’re not. But do you hear that?” The hand pointed to the right. “You’re not the only one counting sheep.”

Varian walked to the end of his chains and craned his neck forward as far as it would go. He saw a guard standing upright, leaning against the wall with his mouth wide open, snoring steadily (and loudly). Varian had heard it, but he’d assumed it was another prisoner.

“This particular fella doesn’t do so well with the night shift. Nods off as soon as he gets here, and wakes up sometime before the changing of the guard. Like clockwork. Anyway.” The hand disappeared, then reappeared with the roll—now featuring a large bite-shaped crater. The female prisoner talked with her mouth full. “When you came in here, I can’t say I had you fingered for high treason. More like... I don't know. Stealing from the cookie jar.”

Varian sat back down on his cot. The chains clinked whenever he moved. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Because I’m bored, kiddo. And after hearing the Captain talk to you and seeing the meal service skip your cell the first few days, well... you're not what I'd call a typical inmate. Color me intrigued,” she hummed. "So, why was the Cap starving you out? What'd you do to grind his gears?"

"Why was he starving me? Fine. I'll tell you." Varian glared into the darkness. "But first, you should know that I'm not some kid. I'm an alchemist. And at the moment, I'm the most despised criminal in Corona. I infiltrated this castle, gained the princess's trust, then betrayed her. And I was close to singlehandedly destroying the royal family. I'll tell you what I am," he said. "I'm a _monster_."

Varian closed his eyes and sighed. There. He knew what he was, and he'd finally admitted it out loud. Silence hung in the stale, clammy air. Doubtless, his fellow prisoner was solemnly taking this information in.

Then Varian heard a snort, followed by an explosion of giggles.

Varian raised an eyebrow. "Why are you—?"

She kept laughing. "You're just... I mean, you're like... the cute little freckles, and the buck teeth, and the pudgy rodent you have in there with you—"

Varian scrunched up his nose. "He’s a raccoon. And it's mostly fur. He's perfectly healthy at his current size—actually, you know what? I don't have to talk to you."

"No, I'm sorry." Varian couldn't see her, but he imagined she was wiping away tears. "I'm sorry. C'mon, I can't help it. I just..." She dropped her voice to imitate him: " _I'm a monster._ You're just so unintimidating. You're like a chipmunk given human shape or something."

"I'm going back to bed."

"Wait! Don't. Who knows when this guy will have the graveyard shift again?"

"Go ahead and throw more bread," he sulked, pulling his blanket over himself and rolling over to face the wall. "Ruddiger can eat it."

"That's the raccoon's name?" More giggles. "Anyway, if his fluff is mostly fur, do you think he might be able to fit through the bars and pinch us the ring of keys from Sleepyhead over there?"

Varian pressed his hands against his ears. "Good _night_."

 

* * *

 

Within days, his new life started to form a rhythm. The creeping cold, gnawing hunger, and a newly-developed cough that wouldn’t let up became background noise. At least he had jobs to do now. Once or twice each day, the Captain pulled him to do something menial. If he was lucky, it was peeling potatoes in his cell with a blunted butter knife (with hell to pay if any were missing when he was done). Usually, though, he was on his hands and knees, locked alone in a yet deeper layer of spider-infested dungeon, scrubbing filthy floors with a frayed old brush until they shone. Other than while being shuttled to and from these work assignments, he was always at least two keys away from freedom. Escape was unthinkable. He was too sickly to overpower anyone, let alone sprint through the castle and into the woods. Good behavior was his only choice.

Besides, he had resigned himself.

When he wasn’t working, he lay on his cot. Mostly he thought nothing. Felt nothing. It was unsettling; normally he always had some new project or idea on the brain. When he did think, he felt drowned in questions about the rocks, his dad, and the princess. He had pieces of a puzzle, but they didn’t fit together. What was the point of going over all the riddles again and again, when he was powerless to test solutions? When all of his questions might very well die down here with him?

Though he had a sketchbook—it was the book that had come with Ruddiger as a courtesy of the king, full of blank pages—writing in it seemed pointless. Only once had he drafted something: a design for a potato-peeling machine. It was the first schematic he’d come up with since being imprisoned. He’d presented it to the Captain, partially for lack of any other audience and partially because he held a tiny bit of hope that he might be allowed to make a prototype. The Captain took the page and tore it, muttering something about subordination. The book stayed blank after that.

Another few days brought an interesting occurrence. The Captain and some guards barged in after lunchtime carrying a desk, a lamp, some random books, and several other basic furnishings. They began assembling them in the cell. Varian didn’t have to be told to stay in the corner and be quiet.

When they were all done, it actually looked cozy. His living space went from a grimy cage to a decent little dormitory.

“I wouldn’t comment on the decorations, if I were you. You’d regret it,” said the Captain, unlocking Varian’s cuffs. “They’re just for today. King’s sent someone calling, and we need to make you a bit more presentable.”

The reason for this became apparent when Flynn Rider (what was his real name, again—Egbert, or something?) walked into the hallway carrying a chair. He set the chair down backwards and sat on it, resting his forearms on the back and straddling the seat. He looked he was preparing for a Real Talk.

“So,” he said, an uneasy smile on his face. "It's… Varian, right?"

Varian positioned himself on his new chair. Surrounded by actual furniture, he must have looked strikingly feral. "Yes."

“Did something happen to your hand?”

Varian glanced at the top of his hand and saw a familiar, circular blotch of red. Easy to forget it was there. “It’s a birthmark.” He flexed his wrist. Felt nice to be out of the cuffs.

Flynn continued with the small talk. “And I see you’re reading some, uh…” He squinted. “ _From Spud to Best Bud: 101 Ways to Cook with Potatoes?”_

The Captain had grabbed it from a random shelf the kitchen. Probably some place near where the potatoes are stored. _So many potatoes._

Varian sighed. He could tell the truth about his living conditions, but he imagined the Captain wasn’t lying when he said it would only make things worse. “So I am. Any other questions?”

“What’s number sixty-seven?”

“I don’t know.”

"Well… anyway.” Flynn scratched the back of his neck. “I guess you can probably sense there’s an elephant in the room, huh?”

Varian looked at him, deadpan.

“Yeah. So. Seeing that you're my biggest fan, I thought I would come down and talk to you. You know, have a little man-to-man about everything that happened over the past few—"

" _Now_ you want to talk to me,” said Varian. “Wait, no… you’re here on the king’s behest.”

Flynn looked sheepish. He was trying his best, but he clearly wasn’t thrilled to be here. "Hey, I’m… only just now getting up to speed, so cut me some slack.”

“She _promised_ to help me.”

"Varian. Let's think about this, okay? You have some legitimate grievances. Rapunzel had to turn you away during the blizzard. That's true. But it was a crazy, exceptional situation. She couldn’t just drop everything and run to Old Corona. After things calmed down, you could have gone to her for help. Actually, you _did_ , and we all helped you get the graphtyc!"

“Asking Rapunzel to help me get the graphtyc was just a little test to make sure she would help me get the flower. I wanted to see how far she would go.” Varian stopped to cough. After he did, he rose from his chair so that he could pace the cell as he talked. Helped him think. “Second, I was a wanted fugitive, so just strolling into Corona to plead my case was pretty much an impossibility. And third—even if I could have somehow gotten an audience with the king and queen as a wanted criminal, I doubt that I could have convinced them to pay attention to the rocks when everyone else failed. And even if I could do _that_ …” He shook his head. “…do you honestly expect them to have allowed the sundrop flower to leave the vault after hiding it away for nineteen years, just so I could analyze it? _No._ I knew that they wouldn’t be willing to take to the necessary measures to free my father—especially not anything that would put their precious princess in danger. Better to not alert them prematurely, and just _take_ what I need.” He turned to Flynn. “I was just trying to free my father.”

Flynn replied easily, firm in his response: "How would killing people have freed your father, Varian?"

Varian sat back down. He was in a huff. "It wouldn't. But I wanted redress for what I'd suffered, and I wasn't going to get it any other way."

“Okay.” Flynn paused. "I got it, but… the revenge thing? It only ever makes things worse. But it's not too late. You can still decide to change. Trust me, I know."

"Change? You’re saying I should just…?” Varian slouched. “Nobody liked me all that much before all this, Flynn. And now the kingdom thinks I’m a murderous maniac.”

"Look, Varian. I was a thief for most of my life, okay? I know what it's like to try and justify... well, _hurting_ people. I know your brain makes up all these excuses, because you don't want to face that what you're doing is actually pretty selfish. Right?”

Varian sunk deeper in the chair, maintaining a petulant expression. Now that _Flynn Rider_ of all people was in front of him, calling him selfish, the empty space inside him was filling up with all the anger he’d felt before. Like bile, it was coming back up.

Flynn continued: “Take me, for example. I stole because I was an orphan. I thought that the world owed me something. But in the end, those excuses were just that. Now, I would have done anything to have a dad like yours. He seemed like a great guy. My question for you is: what do you think that _he_ would want you to do? What would _he_ think of the choices you’re making?”

This line of interrogation hurt. Bad. “You don’t know my dad,” Varian muttered.

“What I’m trying to get at here is—was what you did really for him, or did you do it for yourself?”

The question fell on Varian like a blow. His response was to lash out: _"I know more than you think I do!"_

Flynn flinched backwards. "What?"

Varian threw his hands up. He was yelling with a fervor that he didn’t think he still had. Ruddiger, who had previously been exploring the new furniture, cowered. "The graphtyc! The scroll! The king never wanted anyone to see it, but I was able to translate the language. Do you know what it says? It says that taking the flower would have terrible consequences, and the king must have known them full well. It…  unleashed something! The rocks!” His voice shook with anger. “The only reason the rocks destroyed my home was because the king took the flower for himself. If he hadn’t done that, my father would still be here, and the rocks would have never grown in the first place. It’s _his fault._ ”

At this, Flynn was hopeless. He couldn’t seem to find anything to say for a long while.

Finally, somber and quiet, he spoke. “Nobody can change the past, kid. But the king is trying to get your dad out of that stuff, pronto. I promise.” He stood up. “Maybe I should go?”

Varian had already cooled off a bit. After saying all that, he felt better. But then he remembered where he was, and how nice it would be to talk to someone, and he regretted exploding.

He tried maintaining a cool air, but he knew he sounded desperate when he started talking again. “Well, if you’re really serious about getting my dad out, I _guess_ we could work together. The drill didn’t pan out, but I still have some other hypotheses, so—"

Flynn drummed his fingers on the top of the chair. “Actually, we’re… shoving off soon.”

“Shoving off?”

“The rocks, they look like they’re trying to lead Blondie somewhere. So we’re going to go see where they lead. Cassandra, Rapunzel, everybody.”

Varian’s resolve sank. He realized that he would be an afterthought in this story. The king and the queen and Flynn and Rapunzel, they’d just move on, and he’d be left here with the Captain of the Guard for… months? No, years. He’d be on probation for the rest of his life.

The king couldn’t be serious about getting his dad out. It was just another lie.

“I see.” Varian went back to his cot. “Goodbye.”  _Whatever your name is._

 

* * *

 

He was, or course, restored to a state of penury as soon as Flynn left. That night, something bounced off his face again. More violently this time. In the background, he heard a familiar snoring sound.

"Hey," said a voice.

Varian rubbed his cheek. "I thought I said I didn't want to talk to you."

"Look, I want to apologize for the other night. I know what it's like to be underestimated based on appearances." A pause. "But admit it. You’re kinda squirrely."

"Ugh."

"I saved you an apple. You know, to make nice."

So that’s what had hit him. The harsher impact was due to the increased momentum. Now he knew that the regular prison population ate decently—they even got fruit sometimes.

He picked it up off the floor, wiped it on his shirt, and took a bite. It was the best apple he’d ever tasted.

She went on. "You look pretty malnourished. Anyway, I never properly introduced myself. My name—which you might already know if you're Corona's most despised criminal, as you claim—is Lady Caine.”

"Never heard of you," said Varian. But a memory came back to him, and he stopped chewing. “Wait. Like... _the_ Lady Caine? From the Flynn Rider books?" He felt himself smile. The supposed Flynn had just come to visit him in the flesh, but—how long had it been since he'd thought about the actual books? Or since he'd read anything at all, for that matter? He read constantly, and liked an equal balance of fanciful adventure stories and didactic books (on engineering and alchemy, mostly). If only he only had books to read, his imprisonment might be tolerable.

He briefly went over the Flynn Rider plots in his head. "Yes, Lady Caine. The strikingly beautiful debutante daughter of Lord Humphrey Caine III. A damsel who wears tight corsets and ostentatious ball gowns, and she’s always all like _save me, Flynn, I’ve been kidnapped by pirates!_ And then Flynn is all like _fear not, my dear Lady—“_

“You can stop there, bookworm. Call it an ironic alias. I don't need saving.”

He hummed. "Right. Unlike the literary Lady Caine, you don't need anyone to rescue you. Especially not a raccoon."

"Ah, shut up.”

“He’s definitely too big to squeeze through, by the way.” Varian had finished most of the apple, Ruddiger chewed the remains clean. He tossed the core back over to her cell, clearing the bars successfully. Better that no one knew they were communicating. “If you’re not a debutante, what are you?”

“Hey, if you want, I could tell you. Might help pass the time.”

Varian felt the hint of a smile again. “I mean, that doesn’t sound _completely_ boring.”

 

* * *

 

 

They talked nonstop after that.

Lady Caine told him her story—a lot of stories, actually, about being a pirate and a scoundrel. Currently, she was being housed in the lowest level of the dungeon because her underworld connections made her particularly adept at escaping. Varian found her refreshingly funny and mean. She  _loved_ to brag about her most sensational heists; the tales she told rivaled what Varian had read in books. Varian was enraptured. He suspected some of them were embellished, but he really didn’t care. When their time together was over, he started counting the hours until the snoring guard would show up again.

Eventually he told her his own story, too. From the beginning. Spilled his heart out.

“—and that’s how I ended up here,” he finished.

“Wow,” said Lady Caine. “You tried to crush your crush. The little lady-in-waiting.”

“Messed up, huh?”

“Yeah. Definitely. But, you know, I’ve seen worse.” A chuckle. “I’m more disturbed by the one-liner you said when you did it.”

Varian covered his face with his hands and groaned. _“I always knew I could sweep you off your feet?”_

“That’s the one.”

The drone of the guard’s snoring suddenly cut out. They both had to wait a few suspenseful seconds—fortunately, it kickstarted again, with gusto.

Varian lay on his cot, staring up at the high ceiling through his fanned fingers. “Honestly, I know I deserve to be here. If my dad were free… if he came down here and saw me like this… he’d disown me. And he’d be right to. I just ruin things. All the time.”

For the first time since they’d started talking, Caine’s voice sounded melancholy. “Hey. I know what you’re feeling, and it sucks. If you’re looking for moral judgement from me, I think the only thing you did wrong was get caught. The royals don’t care about people like us. Never have.”

“Yeah?”

She sighed. “My father was trapped, too.”

“I remember. That’s why you crashed the coronation.”

“He got hurt in the war. Hurt bad. After that, he couldn’t find work anywhere… he stole, but only to keep us fed. I saw him hauled to jail, and that’s where he died. I thought I’d be able to get even, but now I’m right where he ended up. I figure they’re going to ship me out somewhere for the long term, soon—there are a few penal colonies in the kingdom.”

“So we’re both failures.”

“Yeah.” Abruptly, her voice bounced back to its familiar tone: confident, acerbic. “But hey, give yourself some credit. I mean, the robot thing was a bit extreme, I’ll grant you that. But the automatons? The execution of your plot? Pretty flawless. You’ve got a diabolical little head on your shoulders.”

He shrugged. “Not like it matters now.”

“Yeah, not particularly. Unless…”

Varian sat up. “Unless?”

“How do you feel about an escape attempt, short stuff?”

He slumped against the wall. “It seems like a really bad idea.”

“Not if Lady Caine and Boy Genius put their heads together.” She stuck her hand out of the bars, as if to offer it to shake. “What do you say?”

Hesitantly, Varian pushed himself off the bed and walked forward. The offer was tempting, but how could they possibly pull it off? And what if they failed? The king might not show him any mercy after an escape attempt, and the Captain would make his life hell. It might be better to wait until some far-off day, when his circumstances would allow a more certain exit.

On the other hand, he didn’t know when that day would come, and living here wasn’t really living. Another day spent in prison was another day his dad hung trapped and alone in solid crystal… another day that the mysteries of the rocks wracked his brain… another nightmare in a dark room.

He stretched out his cuffed hand as far as it would go.

“Deal.” He mimed a handshake. "And I prefer The Alchemist. You know, as my criminal name?"

"Absolutely." Caine mimed too. "You got it, Boy Genius." 

Now all they needed was a plan.


	4. It Takes Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian comes up with an escape plan.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings: some violence, an amputation mention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! We're heading into finals week, which means that life is suffering. I'm still trying to figure out what pace is comfortable and realistic for me in terms of writing, and would like to apologize for the inconsistency in schedule that will inevitably result. I'm still figuring this whole "writing regularly" thing out--the last time I attempted something like this was NaNoWriMo, but even then my process was fragmented, and I've never written things in a serial format quite like this.
> 
> I've taken two weeks, and have produced two chapters. They were being REALLY difficult, but eventually I came up with something I liked. The first you will find below. The second still needs a final once-over before I can publish it, and should go up in the next couple of days.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! As always, comments are my lifeblood.

Paradoxically, there was something nice about being around someone as nasty as Lady Caine.

She didn’t try to talk Varian out of his feelings. Instead, she was happy to indulge his bitterness, and her selfish nature was surprisingly refreshing.

They were broken in the same places. They both wanted Rapunzel and her father to pay. _Envy_. That’s what he felt the most. He knew Caine felt it, as well. Two royal parents, a soul mate, bottomless wealth, and the kingdom’s adoration… it’s easy to be good when you have all that. Even Flynn had forgotten what it meant to be hungry, greedy, and alone.

But Caine? She didn’t pretend to be good.

Varian liked that.

If their plan failed, he worried about losing her company. At the same time, he had no idea when she would be officially sentenced. It could happen anytime. Most likely, she’d be exiled to the prison barge of the Lost Sea—or worse.

Since he’d probably only get one shot at escape with her, Varian had to carefully consider their options. Lady Caine gave him a short lesson on common escape methods. She also assured him that if she was able to get the drop on a guard, taking him down would be easy. The problem would be getting her out of her cell.

There was also the issue of Varian’s cuffs—as far as he knew, only the Captain had access to the keys. Opportunities to invent things were scant, as well—the Captain kept a very strict protocol on what objects could enter his cell, leaving him precious little to work with. (He thought maybe he could try and make a sort of fishing line to get the keys from the sleeping guard, but it was a non-starter. He didn’t have thread… or a hook.)

He considered their dilemma over a bowl of morning porridge. An overflowing bowl. Finally, he was getting a normal amount of food, it seemed. Although other than the much-needed calories, it was really nothing to celebrate. The porridge was awful and sticky, and it went down like paste. If you threw it at the wall, it would probably stay there.

That gave him an idea.

He’d have to run a few experiments.

 

* * *

 

 

Rapunzel stood on her balcony, gazing out over the lights of the capital.

It was relaxing to let her hair down every so often and feel the night breeze blow through it. She often missed the weightless feeling of her short hair. The inconspicuous, mousy color, and all the lack of a magical destiny that it implied.

Sometimes, while everyone was sleeping, she’d come out here and look at the sky—just like she often had in the tower. Mother couldn’t— _Gothel_ couldn’t know what she felt, so she confessed her hopes to the stars, imagining they were the brothers and sisters of the floating lights. She was safe to speak to them without being mocked, or chided, or menaced with grisly stories of the world’s dangers.

 _Is this really all there is?_ she would ask. _I wish for more._ Before her hair grew back, she had quietly and guiltily begun making the same wish.

She’d gotten exactly what she wanted: a call to adventure, a reason to escape her new tower, and a sequel to her story. But how could she be happy when the price was this great? Brushes with death for the ones she loved most… a plague of rocks that displaced hundreds of innocent people from their homes… and worst of all, the vision of the man trapped in amber which still haunted her. He was the first real casualty of all this, and he was unlikely to be the last.

What if all of it _was_ her fault?

Sneaking past a snoozing Pascal, she padded down the hallway to Eugene’s room, creaking his door open just a bit to see if he was still awake. He was.

“You too, huh?” She sat beside him on the foot of his bed.

“Yeah. Can’t sleep.” The sound of Eugene’s voice always made her feel better. “Travel jitters.”

The path of the rocks seemed to stretch on forever. Way past the walls of Old Corona and even out to the sea. They’d have to carry out a full-scale expedition just to see where they ended.

“It doesn’t feel real.” Rapunzel brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Even though I’m all packed, I can’t believe we’re actually leaving.”

“You excited?” He beamed at her. “It’s going to be a road trip! Every couple needs to have at least one.”

She smiled back. “I _was_ really excited. I mean, I still am! I just…” She sighed. There was no point in pretending to Eugene. “It’s hard to feel… ready. I’ve made so many mistakes. And leaving to address this magical destiny, or whatever it is, means even more mysteries. More decisions to make. You know?”

“Are you still thinking about what happened with the kid?”

“Yes. I feel awful about how things turned out. I tried to help him, but there was just so much going on… my parents, and the blizzard—”

“Hey. You had to break a promise. It happens. I think you tried your best to make it up to him, but… I don’t know.” He put his hand over hers. “He needs some time to think and reflect. And I’m sure once his dad is free, things will get a whole lot better. Until then, it’s probably best that he stays put. Your dad’s got it handled.”

 “You’re right.” She flopped backwards onto the covers. “It’s like I’m leaving my tower all over again. But now, there’s a whole kingdom depending on me, and I have so much more to lose.”

“That’s true. But it’s not all on your shoulders, Blondie. You’ll lead the way, but we’ll all be behind you. Me, Cassandra, Lance, and a crack team of royal guards… protecting this kingdom is on us, too. We're in it together.”

Rapunzel sat up and gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Eugene.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve got this.”

 

* * *

 

 

The nightmares were getting worse.

Varian was starting to believe he would go crazy if he didn’t get out of this prison. The worst dreams were the ones that seemed real. He often dreamt about the rocks bursting through the floor of his cell. Last night, it was the Captain coming in and telling him that he could leave prison right now, but in exchange, he’d have to give up his right hand. Literally just chop it off. It was bizarre after waking—laughable, even—but terrifying while he was dreaming it.

The escape provided a distraction. Varian used his notebook to draft the plans. He came up with a carefully-crafted paper airplane design so that he could tear out the pages and fly them over to Lady Caine when no one was looking. That way, she’d have some time to consider the plan before they started talking again.

His first message began: _Start skipping breakfast._

After a few talks, the escape plan began to take shape, and before Varian knew it, the day finally came for their scheme to be realized.

Varian’s heart was thrumming as the Captain walked down the corridor towards him. He caged Ruddiger, as was protocol, and presented his cuffs to be unlocked.

“Afternoon, inmate.” The Captain entered the cell, displaying all his typical gruffness. Varian coughed three times. That was the signal. “I have something to say. Something important. You might still be a wretched, hopeless little maggot, but you’ve been an obedient prisoner so far. If you keep it up, you can start to earn back some of the privileges you’ve lost.” He unlocked the cuffs. Varian held his breath as he stared across the hallway. He tried to guess the chance this ridiculous plan had of working. Five percent? “I know my methods seem harsh, but they match the crime. Every exercise you’ve done so far has been for your benefit. Eventually, you’ll build character, discipline, respect for authority… all the tools you need to become a model citizen.

“I’ve had to be especially strict with you because we’ve had a lot of issues in this prison lately. There will be no prison breaks now; not on my watch. But since you’ve been quite amiable, I’m considering letting you do something more interesting today. If you manage it, I might even allow you to select a book from the royal library. You see, there’s a broken clock—”

 “Captain?” Varian rubbed his wrist. He didn’t have to feign being scared—just ignorance. “There’s something important I need t—"

The Captain raised a gloved hand. “No speaking without permission, inmate. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but—“

“Always address your superior properly.”

“Sorry. Permission to speak, sir?”

“Granted.”

“Well, it’s just… the prisoner across from me…” He tried his best to look pathetic. “I-I think they escaped.”

“What?” The Captain looked over his shoulder. “Lawrence!”

The guard currently on duty rushed over. He seemed like a trainee. (They’d needed more people, Varian guessed, to manage this Ultra Secure and Ultra Boring level of dungeon that clearly hadn’t been used in years, based on the filthiness of the floors. Heck, the sleeping guard was probably pulling extra shifts.) “I didn’t see anything!”

Varian shrugged. “When you walked by with your lantern, Captain, I couldn’t see them.”

“Oh, for the love of—Lawrence, were you paying attention at all when you were doing the rounds? She’s not here!”

The Captain shined his lantern in the direction of Caine’s cell. It revealed nothing but slatted shadows. The Captain reached out and tried to open the door to the cell, but it was still locked.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding.” Bewildered, he dug out the key and opened it, stepping in, shining his lantern around the room, overturning the cot. Empty. “Lawrence, search the whole block. Inmate, stay behind me. The woman in this cell is a highly dangerous criminal, and she could be anywhere.”

Varian made his voice quiver. “Anywhere?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll catch her. I refuse to let—” The Captain flinched. Something had landed on the tip of his nose with a _plop._ Something… viscous.

Porridge.

Varian had tested it on Ruddiger first, and he was able to stick him to the wall, although the square-cube law meant that there was no guarantee Caine would be able to stay up on the ceiling long enough to ambush her target. Fortunately, it had held.

As the Captain looked up in horror, Lady Caine pulled herself free, flipping in mid-air with the agility of an alley cat to land on his back. Meanwhile, Varian ran over and grabbed Ruddiger’s cage, unlatching it quickly. When Lawrence ran back around to investigate all the screaming, Varian flung Ruddiger at the guard’s face, screaming: _“The eyes! Go for the eyes!”_

Of course, all Ruddiger did was skitter around the guard’s head a bit, but it was enough for Varian to nab the key to the exit from the guard’s pocket while he panicked.

Meanwhile, Lady Caine subdued the Captain easily; Varian told her he’d had an injury, and she was merciless, sending him to the floor with a well-aimed kick to his side. She slammed his hand into one of the cuffs and managed to lock it, her heel planted firmly on his neck. Just as the second guard manage to throw Ruddiger off, she snapped to him with an expression that said _you’re next._

Varian scooped up Ruddiger and went to unlock the door to the staircase. After a few cries of pain from Lawrence and a hasty _click,_ Caine joined him. They ascended the stairs as the Captain’s shouts turned to distant echoes.

For the first time, Varian saw his neighbor up close, though only in flashes as they passed beneath the light of candles. She was in a prison uniform, too. She had auburn, curly hair in a loose bun, and there were roses and a skull tattooed on her upper arm. ( _Awesome,_ he thought. Maybe he could get a cool tattoo like that someday.) She was also covered in porridge, of course, squelching up the steps like some sort of vengeful breakfast golem. This somehow made her even more frightening.

Wordlessly, they made it to the top level, where Caine gave the guard on duty a running tackle. As they had hoped, the cells were crammed with thugs, some of whom seemed to recognize them—well, one of them.

“Lady Caine!”

“Who’s the kid?”

“Did you trip and fall in something?”

“None of your business!” Victorious with the key, Caine unlocked each cell, quickly going down the row. “You all need to scatter and make mayhem, got it? Loot whatever you can. Oh, and if you make it out in one piece, meet me at the usual place.” She pointed to the door. _“Move out!”_

Now that they had a whole band of toughs running rampant through the castle grounds, escape would be easier. A few of the thugs stayed behind to take the guards at the entrance; meanwhile, Caine, Ruddiger, and Varian made a break for the Captain’s office, where they found their old clothes and possessions. They also took the liberty of borrowing some other confiscated property—they each took a hooded cloak for themselves. They didn’t have time to change completely, of course; they just flung the cloaks over their prison clothes—but Varian quickly slipped his gloves and goggles on before they started moving again. He felt a lot better after he did. More complete.

“Okay. The odds are up to twenty percent,” he muttered to himself.

Caine had taken the few seconds to arm herself with her sword and wipe most of the porridge off her face. “You’re pretty anxious to put your nerd gear back on, huh?”

“As my dad often says, eyes and hands don’t grow back,” he said. “So you should always protect them.”

“Good advice. Now, you’ll lead us out of here, right?”

Varian nodded. He had been running through a mental map of the castle for the past few days. However, ascending into the castle proper dissolved all ability to think logically. His senses were absolutely flooded. There was so much color and light. The hues of the hallway seemed impossibly vibrant—the purple and gold of Corona surrounded him in rich rugs and tapestries, all set ablaze by the midday sun streaming through the windows. He smelled the aroma of freshly-baked bread somewhere nearby. In the background, he heard that the alarm had been sounded; shouts and the clang of clashing iron pealed through the corridors—

Caine nudged him to hurry up. The guards and prisoners were battling it out, and the thugs would soon start ransacking the areas of the castle with valuables. Since the guards would start pouring into those areas to stop them—and they had no idea that Varian and Caine had escaped, or at least not yet—Varian decided it would be best to take a detour through the less trafficked areas, making their way to the stables for a getaway horse.

(The tunnels had been a tempting possibility, too, but there was a huge chance of getting lost or maimed down there. They’d have to steal Der Sonne’s book again to know where they were going, anyway. At least in the castle, he had _some_ idea of where everything was.)

They hurried through the hallways. At one point, Varian had to pull them both behind a set of pillars as a pair of guards ran by.

“Okay. Now we’ll take this door on the, um… right,” he whispered.

Caine quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Totally. I know this castle like the back of my hand by now.” He smiled unconvincingly and approached the door, opening it just a sliver.

This was not the way to the stables. Rather, it seemed to be a cozy little room with a fireplace, a bed, and some weapons hanging on the wall. Just as he was taking this in, someone with a blade in their hand came crashing through the door. They collided. He looked up to see the surprised face of Cassandra.

Her eyes went wide. _“Varian?”_

He whirled around before she could react properly. “Okay, other door!”

He and Caine rushed through the opposite door (which indeed lead outside), Cassandra yelling at them to halt. Caine hissed over her shoulder as they sprinted: “You must not know the back of your hand very well!”

“I guess I don’t,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter, anyway! We’re almost to the stables.”

“Wait! This one.” Caine yanked on Varian’s cloak. She pulled him towards a small structure, separate from the rest, with slatted windows. It looked like… well, a jail cell for horses. (Varian didn’t know there _was_ such a thing.) Inside, a huge stallion with a black coat whinnied and threw his head back anxiously. As Caine unlatched the stable door, Varian realized that this must be Axel, her loyal steed and the fiercest horse in Corona (or so she’d told him). The horse’s movements were restless—he was full of pent-up energy, itching to run. Caine said that, last time, she’d tried to escape prison with a cart full of stolen coins. She would have made it if it wasn’t for the incompetence of some two-bit purse snatcher named Dwayne. This time, they weren’t being so greedy; they were just trying to escape with their own skins.

Caine hopped up gracefully onto Axel’s saddle. Varian tried the same motion and ended up kissing dirt. Horsemanship had never been his thing—besides, his dad never let him leave Old Corona without a chaperone, so there was no point in learning how to ride. He’d had to sneak out just to attend the Science Expo at the capital. After word got out about the “massive vortex of death” fiasco, his dad was beside himself. Varian thought that bringing home a first-place prize would make up for it all, but he didn’t even _win_. The fight they had over it was awful. Still—he’d gladly relive that fight a thousand times in exchange for turning the clock back to before all this.

Caine rolled her eyes as she helped him up on the saddle—just in time to see Cassandra dashing towards them, sword drawn. Varian scrambled to grab at Caine’s cloak as Axel took off at breakneck speed toward the castle gate. Ruddiger was sandwiched between the two of them.

Varian glanced over his shoulder to see Cassandra whistling for her own horse. She’d alert the rest of the guard to their presence, no doubt. The other escapees were just common thieves, and most of the capital’s manpower would soon be directed towards the maniacal pair of traitors currently escaping on horseback.

Then he turned his head towards the castle gates, the city, and beyond all that—the endless, green hills of the mainland. Axel was flying, and soon they would be across the bridge. Wind whipped through Varian’s hair, and tears stung his eyes. He was so close to being free! _Actually free!_ In the distance, the rocks had made the landscape into a massive, ugly patch of briar, but even a briar patch would be better than what he’d had before. For a moment, he was happy.

But they weren’t out of danger. A daytime escape wasn’t ideal, especially since all of the capital was awake and could see Caine’s distinctive steed galloping at full speed towards the town. One of those capital residents, a royal horse with a white coat and yellow mane, happened to be on patrol in the town below and had plenty of time to spot them. Unluckily, Flynn was also in town that day, giving some guard recruits a crash course on catching petty thieves. The stallion must have alerted Flynn, and the both of them quickly teamed up to cut off Axel before he crossed the bridge. As Axel bowled over merchant stands on his warpath through the village square, Caine hissed that they had company.

Flynn and the royal horse were set on them and gaining fast. As they approached the bridge, the white horse was nearly side-by-side with them. It was trying to knock Axel into the wall, whinnying madly. Caine urged Axel to hurry, but currently each horse seemed set on bowling over the other. Varian and Ruddiger scarcely held on as the stallions battled. They were almost to the end of the bridge when the white horse dealt them a strong blow, and Axel stumbled.

Just as Varian was sure they were about to be felled, he saw Caine’s hand fly under her cloak. She drew out the sword she had taken from the Captain’s office and started swinging at Rider, all while both steeds continued to rocket forward. Just as they crossed onto the grass of the mainland, several black spikes spurted up into their path. Like the rocks had been lying in wait.

The horses cried out, rearing up onto their hind legs. Caine might have managed to stick it out if she was alone, but Varian panicked and pulled her down. They hit the ground, and Axel galloped off alone into the woods.

She still had her sword. While the white horse was still spooked, she took the opportunity to leap up and knock Flynn off. Her blade gave her an advantage, and she fought with the savage desperation of someone mere inches away from freedom. She managed to pin him to the ground, sword aimed at his chest. The white horse whinnied furiously, but it kept its distance after Caine made a warning jab towards her hostage.

“Okay, so, um… Axel just bolted.” Varian was in shock. “I… I thought he was your horse!”

“He was!” she yelled, not taking her eyes off Flynn.

“Then why did he just leave us here?”

“Because he’s a traitor!”

“You were betrayed by your _horse?”_ Varian frowned. “I don’t remember you telling me that part of the story. We totally should have gotten a regular horse. It would have been more inconspicuous.”

“We didn’t have time, genius! Not after _you_ bumped into the royal guard brat!”

Flynn flashed a nervous grin at them. “Hey, enough with the arguing! I’m sure you both did a great job escaping. Now, if you’d just back off a few inches on the pointy end of that sword…”

Their argument ended abruptly as shouts and hoofbeats grew loud. Cassandra led a charge across the bridge. A small army of men armed with crossbows rushed forward.

Just as the cavalry crossed the bridge, Caine put the blade to Flynn’s throat and shouted that nobody had better come any closer.


	5. The Spindle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian tries out a new hypothesis.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings: Mention of an injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Part 2 of what I've been writing for the past two weeks, as promised! It's a lot shorter, but it's a moment I've been eager to get to.

It was a standoff.

Caine and Varian were side by side, and Flynn was still beneath her sword. Ruddiger was curled on the ground in an anxious ball. The white horse huffed nervously a few meters away. And a few meters further, a horde of guards stood on the bridge. Cassandra sat in front on a brown mare. She quieted her horse and instructed everyone to stay back.

Varian was afraid to move. He spoke under his breath: “You’re not going to kill Flynn, are you?”

“It’s Eugene,” squeaked Flynn.

Caine shook her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill him,” she murmured. “At this point, it would hardly be sporting.”

Eugene (might as well call him that now) cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

Caine scoffed. “You’ve gotten soft, Rider,” she said. “Then again, a year as the princess’s little lapdog would do that to anyone. Have you been enjoying Fred’s table scraps?”

“Well, my _neck_ is certainly soft. And fleshy. And I’m wondering if we can resolve this.”

“Let’s get it over with, then.” Caine addressed the crowd, her voice authoritative. She spoke with a theatrical flair. It was clear that she really wasn’t afraid to let heads roll. “If you all cooperate with me, nobody needs to get eviscerated. I’ll let him go, but only if you all cross back over that bridge. _All_ the way back.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Her father was probably still in the dungeon, so dealing with this would be her call. Varian saw she was nervous from the stiffness of her posture. Otherwise, she kept her composure.

“All right,” said Cassandra. “We’ll negotiate. I can clearly see who’s in charge here. But Eugene is a bit of a low price for your release, wouldn’t you say?”

Caine seemed flattered, and Eugene seemed miffed.

Cassandra continued. “So you agree. Here’s what I propose, then. Allow us to arrest your accomplice, and on my honor, we'll cross back over this bridge and let you escape.”

A crashing sound broke the ensuing silence. Another rock had sprouted right in front of Varian’s feet.

“So these are the things you were talking about,” muttered Caine. Still holding Eugene tight, she brushed her fingertips over one of them. Nothing happened. Not unexpected; only Rapunzel could control them, it seemed. But why were they still growing?

Varian was in the dark about this. He’d been working and living around these rocks for a long time now, and they’d never reacted to him like this—or had they? He never even considered that they _could_ react to him, but maybe he should have realized something funny was going on. After all, it was strange—his village had been consumed by the things. His home had become the victim of a massive fortress of rocks. Everything around him had been destroyed with a particular zeal, almost as if the rocks had always been singling him out in some way. Now that Rapunzel had communed with them, they seemed to have started targeting him directly, just like they’d been targeting her.

But that made no sense at all. He didn’t have magic hair, as far as he knew. Yes, he had a shock of blue in it that some people called strange, but it stayed blue even after being cut. He’d always chalked it up to genetics.

Then it hit him. A hypothesis. Something he’d never tried before. It was stupidly simple—literally right in front of his face.

He _always_ wore his gloves.

In other words, he’d never touched the rocks without gloves on. Not once. What reason would he have had to try _that_?

It might be something to consider. And since he had a creeping feeling that he was about to be betrayed, there was no better time than now to try a new hypothesis.

While Caine and Cassandra continued to stare each other down, Varian quietly slipped the glove off his right hand. The rock in front of him glowed with eerie, blue light. Its smooth, obsidian surface drew him in. The thing that had destroyed his life was sort of beautiful, he thought suddenly. He stretched out his hand, gingerly bringing his fingertip to the top of the rock.

He barely had time to react to what happened next. Something icy flowed into his arm through his fingertip. Then, all at once, his skin lit up. The same ancient lettering from the graphtyc glowed bright white over his entire forearm, like a tattoo—like it had been inked there with starlight. He buzzed with a strange, new energy. He gripped the rock as Rapunzel had, and felt as if he were flexing a muscle he never knew he possessed. _Flex. Flex._ The rocks around him began to shift.

He could use this. He imagined himself drawing the rocks from the ground, as if he were plucking weeds from a garden. _Pull._

It didn’t escape him that Rapunzel had brought up spikes with enough force to penetrate steel. He didn’t want to cause a massacre, so he decided to bring them up just in front of the bridge. He didn’t know how he _could_ decide to do this, but there was no point wondering about it now, and the rocks seemed to obey his whim. The guards jumped back as a row of spikes erupted neatly in front of them, like a wall. 

The intensity of the buzzing grew in his forearm, and the writing on it began to sting. This hadn’t appeared too painful for Rapunzel. Why was it starting to hurt? He felt like the energy should be flowing through the rest of his body as electricity flows through a conductor, but it... wasn’t. There was a blockage, right at his elbow. A plug. He could feel the pressure growing; it was like there was a chemical reaction happening in a corked tube, and the tube was his arm. And Varian realized from experience that when you keep adding energy to a system and the energy has nowhere to go, the container holding that system will shatter.

Fear struck him, but couldn’t draw away; his arm was immobile. He lost control. He heard rocks bursting up in all directions. The light shining from the runes on his forearm grew in intensity until it was blinding, and then—

An explosive flash of white sent Varian reeling. It was like his arm had short-circuited, or a war cannon had misfired. The air smelled burnt.

When his hearing and vision came back, he found himself on the ground, screaming. His arm—it felt like it was on fire. It wasn’t really, but the lettering was smoldering there, seared ugly and red onto his skin. He looked at the top of his hand. His birthmark. It now looked like a circle with three slashes, just like the insignia on his father’s chest.

A piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place. The real answer came to him, evasive but right in front of his face, like the melody of an old song he used to know by heart.

He had powers, but the vector wasn’t his hair.

It was his _hand._

Another thousand half-formed questions burst from this realization—but at least another piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place.

He picked himself up off the grass and looked around. They were all in a thicket of towering black pillars now. Caine lay flat on her face, her curly hair splayed out on the grass, her sword beside her. Eugene was a few feet away, rubbing his head. Most of the cavalry had been bowled over by the blast but otherwise uninjured. Everyone seemed to be okay. Except—

A wail pierced the air. Varian turned to see the white horse. It had been too close to escape the explosion of rocks. One of the spikes had knocked the animal off its feet; a wave of nausea hit Varian as he saw a deep wound on its flank. Easily a fatal one if not treated soon, he guessed.

First priority: Ruddiger. He grabbed the dazed raccoon off the ground. Second priority: Caine. Yes, she had probably been considering selling him out, but... who knows what she was planning to do? Besides, he was strapped for friends at the moment. He’d take what he could get. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, urging her to start moving. The guards were beginning to stir. He gave the burnt marks on his arm one last look, then shoved his glove back on.

He needed to figure out what he on Earth he was, but first he had to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY
> 
> Since I've been receiving comments about getting to the magic part already, I'm pleased to announce that we are there.
> 
> I've been reading a lot of other Varian fic recently, and him having magic in his hand(s) (just like ya girl Elsa!) makes so much sense, especially since we never see him without his signature gloves on. In canon, I honestly have no idea whether he'll be involved with moon magic, but that blue streak in his hair sure is suspicious (it reminds me of the white streak in Anna's hair).


	6. Almost There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian is free, but he now faces an even more daunting challenge: figuring out what to do next.

Caine grumbled at first, as if Varian was disturbing her afternoon nap. He had to shake her pretty hard to snap her to her senses. When she realized where she was, her immediate instinct was to grab her sword again, and the two of them dashed into the woods.

Varian soon heard the _thwack_ of arrows hitting tree trunks. The rocks he had pulled up barred the horses from bypassing the bridge, but there had been nothing to stop the guards from hopping over them and pursuing on foot. There seemed to be a particular urgency to the men’ voices, as if it were a dragon or some other awful monster they had to keep from escaping, lest it scorch everything from here to the next kingdom. Like they were afraid. They might have cause to be, Varian thought, and promptly tripped over the knotted roots of a tree.

“Keep up,” Caine urged, as if she wasn’t the one who’d just been lying on the ground a few minutes ago.

“I’m trying!” Varian heard it whizzing towards him before he felt it—a shock of pain in his right side, right in the middle of his ribs. It nearly send him spinning, but he managed to keep his footing and sprint on until they were in a deep, densely-packed area of the forest and couldn’t hear the guards anymore.

They reached a small clearing and Caine came to a triumphant stop, glowing with pride like she’d just won an epic footrace. She looked like she wanted to shout into the sky, but that would compromise their position—so she pumped her fist in the air, gestured rudely in the direction of the castle, and generally made a silent show of herself.

When she finally turned her attention to Varian, her face changed. She dropped her arms to her sides. “They got you?”

“I’m fine,” said Varian. He was leaning on a tree trunk to catch his breath. He unconsciously touched his right side, where it still hurt, and the palm of his glove came away covered in red. He looked at his shirt and saw a tear in the fabric, which was also saturated with red. Lots of red.

He never was good with blood. Even small cuts made him feel dizzy. As the world started to spin, he knew he was done for.

 

* * *

 

The shock of cold water brought him back to consciousness. Varian groaned. He heard the rush of a river nearby.

Another splash hit him in the face—enough to snap him awake. He lay on the bank of a creek. Caine—the splasher—knelt further downstream.

“Finally. You’re a heavy sleeper, kid.” She returned to wringing out her hair by the bank. She’d washed herself off, and she was in her own clothes now: a bodice, fingerless gloves, and a baggy, sensible pair of bloomers. A necklace with a skull pendant hung around her neck. She certainly didn’t dress like the Lady Caine from the Flynn Rider books. She was about Cassandra’s age, and looked like someone you wouldn’t want to encounter in an alley. The sun was setting, and its orange light struck her hair, bringing out its fiery undertone.

She must have let him snooze for a few hours, but it had gone by in a blink—the soundest sleep he’d had in days.

Varian was in pain, and it took a moment for him to remember why. Right—the crossbow. He tugged his shirt up to look at the damage and found that his wound had been dressed. Caine had torn apart her cloak to make a makeshift bandage.

He didn’t know what to say. “You actually helped me?”

“I do as I please.” She shrugged, still turned out to the river. “Besides, you’re pretty light. Not too hard to drag.”

“I was sure you were going to turn me in. I mean, you _are_ a pirate.”

“When it was me or you? Well, yeah,” she admitted. “I like to act in my own interest. Doesn’t everybody?”

Ouch, but at least she was honest about being a backstabber. Varian could respect that. He turned to the bandages again. “How bad is it?”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said. “You’ll be fine. Probably.”

“How reassuring.” He wasn’t too worried. It seemed as if the arrow had only grazed his skin. It might have bled a lot at first, but the wound was superficial, and the pain wasn’t too bad. His arm hurt more, actually.

Ruddiger had been dozing on the grass, curled up as if protecting something. He woke up upon hearing Varian’s voice and rushed over. He must have just finished foraging, because he carried a big, wriggling slug in his mouth. He climbed onto Varian’s chest and proudly dropped it there with a _splat_. When Varian didn’t react, Ruddiger nudged the slug forward with his nose as if to say _dig in_.

“Yeah, I don’t eat those,” he said. “It’s all yours, bud.”

Ruddiger ate the ill-fated gastropod in one slurp. Varian couldn’t help recoiling, but he scratched Ruddiger’s head to show his gratitude, anyway. It was the thought that counted. Besides, Ruddiger loved nothing more than food, and he’d had none of his preferred snacks in the dungeon, slugs included. That one he’d just swallowed had probably been a premium-quality slug. Prison really is no place for a raccoon.

He was happy that Ruddiger could eat his favorite things again. Freedom felt sweet. He still couldn’t believe their plan had worked, but here he was—dungeon yesterday, great big world today. He smelled the air and the dirt. He heard the gentle babbling of the creek and the crickets beginning to chirp. He didn’t appreciate nature properly—not until was taken from him.

“So what happened back there? Were you hiding something up your sleeve, or what?” asked Lady Caine, looking at him over her shoulder, pulling her hair back into an updo. “It was like a bomb went off.”

“Oh, right. I touched the rocks, and my hand started to glow, and… I could control them. That’s definitely a new thing, and…” Varian’s eyes widened. He sat up, wincing. _“Oh, wow.”_

Here, in the quiet woods, not being chased or bleeding profusely, he finally had a few moments to think about the implications of what had happened with the rocks. His heart began to beat faster as he realized just how lucky he was. After months of working in isolation on a plan to free his father, and these past weeks of endless brooding, he was finally feeling a twinge of hope, and as he continued to think about what today meant, the twinge burst into something strong enough to make him grin.

“Do you know what that means?” He grabbed Ruddiger and twirled around with him in a mock dance, as well as he could while minding the pain in his side. “It means we’ve figured out what to do! You were so good back there, buddy. I can’t believe I threw you at the guard, and he was all like _aaah!_ and then Lady Caine got the sword and she was on her horse swinging it like _WOOSH_ and then I touched the rock and it was all like _KABLOW_ and then I was moving them—I don’t know how, but the reason hardly matters—which means that _I can finally help Dad!”_

Then he remembered what he saw just before running off. It was sobering enough to make him sit back down on the bank, setting a now-dizzy Ruddiger beside him.

“Do you think the horse will be okay?”

Caine stood up and grabbed a long stick she’d stuck in the mud. She’d crafted its point into a four-pronged spear. She’d been totally tuning him out. “What’s that about a horse?”

“It was an accident. The rocks just… sprung up everywhere. And the horse that Flynn—I mean Eugene—was riding got cut by one of them.”

“That stallion’s name is Max. He’s a pretty good horse, actually.” Hiking her trousers up, she waded out in the shallow water. “And the princess’s favorite. I would think you’d be pleased with yourself.”

“No, I mean… he’s just a horse, right? He doesn’t deserve to get hurt.”

She stabbed the spear into the water. She pulled it out, but there was nothing on the end. “I thought you tried to squeeze two people to death in your cold, metal grip.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He looked out into the creek and saw large fish swimming just below the surface.

 “Interesting.” Concentrating hard, she tried again with the spear, but the fish she was aiming for must have wriggled away. No dice. “You seem to be at war with yourself.”

“None of it matters. My dad will be free soon, that’s what’s important. Are you adjusting for the different index of refraction in the water?”

“The what now?”

“Never mind. The creek’s not deep enough for it to make a massive difference, so your aim’s probably just a bit off,” he said, not meaning to sound like a snot, even though it probably came out that way.

His arm still seethed, like it had been hit with a heavily localized sunburn, and the water looked inviting. He took his glove off and dipped his arm in the river, going in up to his elbow. That felt much better. He closed his eyes, enjoying the cool sensation of the flowing water. Along with helping the burns, it soothed any worry he held about his new strange abilities. What happened to the stallion was unfortunate, but he could manage this. The strange ability had only manifested when he touched the rocks, so as long as he kept his hands off them, there was no danger.

He heard another splash, followed by a frustrated exhale. “Okay, smart guy, _you_ try catching fish. It’s not as easy… as… _what._ ”

He opened his eyes. Lady Caine was looking at him like he’d just sprouted an extra limb.

 Varian glanced down, then up. There was something floating in the air. Water. Circular globs of it hung suspended in front of him, slowly rising towards the sky in clear orbs. Below the surface of the water, the inscription on his right hand glowed dimly. Startled, he pulled his arm away, and all of the blobs fell back into the river.

Caine was unnerved, but curiosity glinted in her eyes. “I want to see that again,” she said.

He stuck his arm in again, but nothing happened.

“So this really is news to you.” She started giggling, but he wasn’t sure why. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

Varian chewed his lip, thinking. Clearly, he didn’t understand everything about the reaction in his arm. When he didn’t understand something, it always helped him to talk it through. He began speaking slowly. “I guess the water is reacting to me somehow, too? So _this_ means… not only do the rocks seem to respond to me, but touching them has activated some sort of latent property in my hand, perhaps irreversibly. It’s exactly like how the rocks made Rapunzel’s hair grow back. But then again, Rapunzel can’t do _this,_ as far as I know. It makes no sense at all,” he said. “Anyway, I can’t make the water rise. I don’t know the… the underlying mechanism. It’s not coming to me intuitively like moving the rocks did.”

“Let’s test it out, then,” Caine said.

With no warning, she sent a rather cruel splash of water flying towards him. Varian flinched, but after a second or two, he didn’t get wet. The water levitated just in front of him like a bunch of glass beads. He wanted to keep staring at them, but he recalled what happened when he communed with the rocks for too long, and he didn’t particularly want the river—or his arm—to explode.

He stood up, hastily dried his arm, and put his glove back on. “Okay, that’s enough.” The beads of water fell.

“If you figure out how to control that little quirk of yours, you could probably levitate our dinner right out of the riverbed. Could be useful.”

Varian shook his head.

“Fine. I won’t push it.” Dismissing the incident with unexpected casualness, she turned her focus back to the water. “Grab a spear; I found the kindness in my cold, dead heart to sharpen an extra one for you. I’ve already set up a campsite and found some firewood. Maybe your pet could make himself useful and gather some more tinder for us.”

Varian was anxious to get back to Old Corona, but the walk would be arduous with his wound, and it seemed reasonable to stop and rest for the night. “Can you do that, Ruddiger? We just need dead grass and leaves and stuff. The drier, the better.” Ruddiger nodded.

“Spearfishing’s the best way to go about getting a filling meal. I learned the technique while I was marooned on an island in the Lost Sea—I think I told you that one, yeah? I might be a little rusty, but the water’s shallow, and it’s not that hard to catch something with one of these. We should fish as much as we can while there’s still some daylight.”

“Sure,” he said, unearthing the extra spear. “I’ll just head a bit further down the stream.”

“You eat what you catch,” she called after him.

Varian had something different in mind.

It wasn’t hard to find something to eat in the woods. The lush forests of Corona gave food freely to those who knew how to look for it. Winter had been tough, but Ruddiger was a nice asset to have. The raccoon might prefer to be pampered with human food, but the he still knew where to find acorns and winter greens, and they nicely supplemented what Varian’s father had stockpiled in the cottage for the cold season.

Now Varian had a spear to fish with. However, he was rarely content with doing things the conventional way. He felt he could do better for Caine and himself—his hands itched to _make_ something, and there were building materials and alchemical ingredients all around him.

He recalled a trap for flies his neighbor had once used in her garden and decided to make a fish trap based on the same concept. He used sticks for building the walls and nettles as cordage. The fish would enter a wide opening which got narrower as they swam with the current of the river into what was essentially an inverted funnel; then they’d get dumped into a large inner chamber. Once inside, it’d be a lot harder to get out through the narrow opening because, quite frankly, fish aren’t all that bright.

By the time he finished, it had long since become dark. He rejoined Caine, who was roasting one of her catches over the fire. Ruddiger sat nearby, warming his paws.

“What’s that under your arm?” she asked. “Some kind of art project?”

“No, look,” he said. “I made it!”

He explained the process of building the trap in full, then plopped it in the water.

“All I had to do was think like a fish,” he concluded, sitting down. “And now we wait.”

Caine hadn’t budged from the fire. “Oh, wow. How creative! You win the gold ribbon at the science fair no one asked for. And now that your invention is sitting in the river, what will you eat _right now?”_

His stomach growled.

He hadn’t thought about that.                                                                           

Caine pinched the bridge of her nose, told him he was hopeless, and lobbed a raw fish at him.

* * *

 

Cassandra stayed in the stables for a long time.                                                                                                                                             

She saw her father, burning with shame over how easily yet another absurd plot had broken through the weak links of Corona’s security. She saw Eugene trying to keep spirits up while not-so-secretly fretting with worry. Everyone was a bit shaken—especially since the princess and her entourage were due to leave tomorrow.

The veterinarian had patched up Maximus as best he could. It would all come down to how well the wound healed. The prognosis was very positive, and Max was getting the royal treatment, but it would be a painful recovery nonetheless.

Eventually, Cassandra was with just Rapunzel. They’d lingered long after the veterinarian and Max’s other visitors had left. Pascal was there, too. He’d abandoned his plush cushion in Rapunzel’s bedroom to sleep in the hay beside his best friend tonight.

Rapunzel sat on the wooden floor, despairing, not caring at all that her skirts were getting covered in straw. “I don’t understand. How could he _do_ this?”

Good question.

Months ago, Cassandra had met a kid. He was a little irresponsible and ditzy, but he meant well. He’d given her a gift—a necklace with a purple stone—and had asked nothing in return. Most importantly, he forgave freely. She found nothing in his eyes to hint at what he was capable of.

The whole thing unsettled her. She didn’t know what had changed. Perhaps nothing had. How we behave when we’ve lost everything—maybe that’s the only way to see what we really are.

“Even knowing his M.O., I’m not sure it was on purpose. The rocks sprung up fast. Honestly, it didn’t look like he knew what he was doing.” She stroked Max’s neck. “You’re a trooper as always, Max.” They were lucky that more people hadn’t been hurt. She’d been worried for Eugene, especially. Hostage negotiation was new territory for Cassandra. She’d tried to play to Lady Caine’s massive ego, but she had no idea whether she’d made the right call. Varian had interrupted.

“You’re right. I just wish I had been able to join you at the bridge. If I had been out there, maybe I could have controlled the rocks myself, talked to him, done something…”

“Hey, Raps. What’s past is past. None of us knew he had powers, and I doubt you could have moved him.” A half-truth. Cassandra’s father told her that, in the event of a disaster, recapturing Varian was to be the guards’ top priority. He really emphasized it. She figured it was because of the gravity of his crimes, but now she suspected there might have been more to the order.

“Somehow, he has magic. And now he’s… out there.” Rapunzel’s expression became determined. She might be soft and sweet on the outside, but when something threatened the people she loved, the girl was a one-princess army. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m afraid that my father will want to delay the expedition, but I won’t allow it. We have to leave as soon as possible. We need to find whatever’s at the end of those rocks, and I have a feeling that we should get to it before Varian does.”

Cassandra joined Rapunzel and put an arm around her. “I’m with you. All the way.”

Max whimpered with pain—actually, no. Knowing Max, it had to be disappointment. He was all set to accompany them on the journey, ready to protect Corona with his life as Rapunzel’s steed. Max was always hard on himself. Not being able to go would crush him.

Rapunzel seemed to sense the same thing. She walked over to the royal horse to try and comfort him. “Oh, Max. It’s okay.” A tear fell down Rapunzel’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. You need to rest.” As if by habit, she began to sing:

_“Flower, gleam and glow._

_Let your powers shine._

_Make the clock reverse._

_Bring back what once was mine…”_

* * *

 

Maybe Varian had taken the “think like a fish” idea too literally.

Not just today, but for the past few months.

The story was familiar: blindly going forward further and further, then finally turning back to see an exit the size of a pinhole… his fish trap was quite the synecdoche.

At least Caine had caught plenty, so he didn’t lack for food. Things were pleasant and calm. The inviting warmth and crackle of the fire reminded him of home. They chatted and ate. The fish Caine had caught were nearly as big as loaves of bread; Varian could only go through half of his before filling up.

“Seeing Cassandra was weird,” he said, breaking a silence. The topic had sprung from nowhere.

“Why?” Caine picked out a small bone and tossed it over her shoulder. “Because you obviously have a crush on her?”

He cringed a bit. “Don’t call it that.”

“Oh, right. Loaded word.”

“And no. It’s more like seeing her made me remember how much power I had? Because if I’d had my way when I was angry, she might not _exist_ anymore. One minute here, one minute gone. Just like my dad. And she’s not even the person who betrayed me. It makes me feel… I don’t know.” Disgusting? Monstrous? Evil beyond all reason? _“Bad.”_

Caine nodded and seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she sat up straighter. She looked a bit like Flynn had. Like she was about to give him Real Talk. “Okay. What you’re feeling right now? That’s called a _conscience_. It’s kind of like… an annoying bug that buzzes in your ear now and then, encouraging you to do really stupid things. Don’t be stupid.” She poked at the fire with a nearby stick, and a flurry of sparks emerged. “If you’re going to be a career criminal, you’re going want to squash that, ASAP. Or, at the very least, find your principles and stick to them.”

“I think I’m glad Rapunzel stopped the automatons. I _know_ I’m glad,” he said. “Now I can just move on. I mean, I can control the rocks. I solved the mystery, I guess.” It almost seemed unsettlingly easy—as if it had come by him unearned—but he wasn’t going to question it if it helped his dad.

“What will you do after your dad’s out of the crystal? If I’m recalling correctly, the guy’s pretty straight-edge. You thought he might disown you. You can’t possibly believe that things are just going to go back to normal, right?”

It sounded so childish when she said it like that. He did want things to go back to normal. When he’d used Rapunzel’s hair on his drill, he knew deep down that, for all his gloating and villainous pomp, he’d melt as soon as his dad was free. If he’d succeeded then, it might not have been too late for him. But he hadn’t, and now he’d crossed some invisible threshold that put him beyond redemption.

“Of course not,” said Varian, sounding sour. “I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do.” A lie.

Caine relaxed again, crossing one leg over the other, turning to the fire with disinterest. “And good luck with that. As soon as morning comes, I’m splitting. I need to go back to my crew and blow off steam with some good, old-fashioned piracy. Adventures, swordfights, redistributing the wealth... you know how it is.”

“Wait, you’re leaving Corona so soon? I mean…”

“Yeah. Things are getting way out of hand around here, even for me. I’m getting out while I can. And I suppose you’ll try and stay here.” She held a large fish skeleton in her pale hands. It was nearly picked clean. As she talked, she twisted it idly. “I can only imagine all the royal guards, not to mention _bounty hunters,_ that will be vying to drag your sorry self back to the castle. Dead or alive.” She severed the skull from the spine with a _snap._

Varian’s gaze was fixed on the bones. “I’m sure I’ll be okay. My old village is practically uninhabitable; no one goes there.”

She smiled. “And your old village is exactly where they’re going to look for you.”

His mouth felt dry. She wasn’t wrong. He probably couldn’t stay here. Realistically, even with his father back in the picture, he only had two choices: flee the kingdom (alone or not), or face the possibility of life imprisonment. “Well… maybe we can just stay together for one more day? Until we’re back in Old Corona? I bet it’s on your way, anyway! Plus, you know, strength in numbers and… and everything.”

“Fine,” she shrugged.

Relieved, he stuck out his hand. “You can help me, and I can help you. We may have had a questionable moment back there at the capital, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s water under the bridge.” He snorted. Caine’s face was blank. “You know the, uh… it happened at the Corona bridge? Anyway. Roomies should stick together, right?”

She furrowed her brow. “No. None of that cutesy ‘roomies’ stuff is going to fly out here.”

“But you said—”

“I said what I had to say to when we were in jail, but now I’m going to tell you how it really is.” She tossed the remainder of her fish away, then took up the fishing spear she’d laid beside her and started poking at the fire again. “First rule of being a criminal: look out for number one. If I help you, it’s because I want to. But at any minute, I might change my mind. _Bam!_ ” She jabbed the sharp ends of the stick in his direction. It was enough to make him fall backwards off the log he’d been sitting on and start scrambling away. Ruddiger also squeaked, scurrying into the brush at the loud sound. “See? Now you’re dead because you trusted me, and your little pet just ran for the hills! The only person you can trust to look out for you is _you_. Got it?”

“Okay.” He offered his hand again from his position on the ground. “I, um… I definitely don’t trust you.”

She nodded curtly and shook. “I don’t trust you, either!”

“Uh, good?”

“Good! And keep this.” She tossed the spear at him. “Always carry a concealed weapon; that’s lesson two.”

He’d keep that in mind.

A short while later, they extinguished the fire and he laid down to sleep beneath an alder tree, his form hidden by tall weeds. The spear stayed at his side.

The way Caine treated him was disorienting, to say the least. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t figure out what was going through her head. Now that they were out, her main form of communication seemed to be throwing insults and objects in his direction. He thought of her rose tattoo. Ironic choice for someone who’s all thorns.

Then again, she’d helped him, hadn’t she? She didn’t have to do that.

Maybe there was a flower hidden somewhere in the thorns after all. A tiny, atrophied little bud, but still. A flower.

He nestled into the grass.

_See you tomorrow, Dad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> It has been a long time since I’ve updated, and I would like to apologize for that. I’m still figuring this whole thing out and I think spring break threw me especially off-kilter. Also, for whatever reason, this chapter was really difficult to get through. What I can swear to is that I have been working on the story this whole time. At some points I started writing in non-chronological order, which—if you’re trying to release chapters in a timely manner—is not ideal. In the end, though, I might just be a slow writer, and the one thing I don't want to do is rush. I want to release something I'm happy with.
> 
> Also, I have discovered that I’ve been spelling Ruddiger’s name wrong, so that’s why it’s different now! Two “d”s confirmed. (Which means I will be correcting this error in the previous chapters as well.)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and a big thanks to those of you who are commenting. Once again, even if I don't reply to everything, I read all the comments and take them to heart. This is such a nice little fandom we have and I'm so glad to be a part of it! <3


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